


all summer alone

by graywrites



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywrites/pseuds/graywrites
Summary: Dawn's not really real, so Buffy dying definitely shouldn't hurt that bad, but she's old enough to know what is and isn't her fault. She does a lot of thinking and not that much talking after Buffy dies, but still, she knows: it should have been her.





	all summer alone

**Author's Note:**

> so idk if anyone even still reads buffy fic but i just have a lot of feelings about buffy and dawn and especially dawn after buffy died. so this fic basically follows dawn while buffys dead, then freshly resurrected, and then a snippet after things are normalish just to like get insight into what dawns feeling & thinking cause im angsty. hope u enjoy!!  
> p.s. i know my tenses are like wrong i took the SATs today i wrote an essay i am. tired

 

After Buffy died, Dawn avoided the Buffybot at every corner. She knew why they needed it, but she wished she could burn it. It was _just almost_ Buffy: like turn the corner, and for a second, she’s not dead; Buffy’s face, her voice, it’s _Buffy_. Except it’s not. And Dawn wanted to burn it, couldn’t take the very same disappointment every time she caught it in the corner of her eye.

 

How could Buffy really be dead if she was there at every turn? Dawn just wanted it to be over, but no amount of muscle memory stopped her heart from stalling every time she turned into the kitchen and the Buffybot was there, just almost her sister, but not. Like a ghost walking around her house.

 

The fact that it was Spike’s sex toy made it a _lot_ worse. Like what Dawn needed was to think about her beloved dead sister getting dirty with _Spike_. Ew. She’d way rather be thinking of that lie everyone made up about checkers or whatever.

 

No, she’d rather Buffy wasn’t dead.

 

She didn’t really talk at all after Buffy died, not for a while. It wasn’t in, like, the completely-mute way that you see in TV, ‘cause that’d just freak everyone out way more, but she didn’t say anything important. _School was fine. I’m not hungry._ Only when spoken to. _I want to be by myself right now_.

 

She tried not to take it out on Willow, and Tara, and Xander. Because Buffy was their friend, and they were hurting, too. Everyone was upset, what else is new? So many funerals, so many bodies. Things that were maybe Dawn’s fault, but it didn’t help anyone by saying so. Knowing that it should have been her doesn’t bring Buffy back, but it still should have been Dawn.

 

She was old enough to know that. It would replay in her head most of the time. The tower, Buffy, free falling, like it was a pool and they were kids. Dawn _so_ wanted to be a kid again. Buffy, pulling Dawn out of the way. Could she have stopped Buffy? Done it instead? Yes. Probably. If she had been braver. If she had been faster.  If she had been stronger, like Buffy.

 

For years, Dawn had hated being compared to Buffy. Now, she wished she could be like her. Who’s going to be that, if Buffy is dead? Who’s going to be strong? Dawn’s the only one left, but she shouldn’t be. Six months isn’t as important as twenty years. And Dawn can never be Buffy. And neither can anyone else.

 

So Buffy should be here.

 

Willow and Tara are good, and Dawn loves them, she does, but she wants her sister. She wants her mom. She misses her family. This time last year, she had a family. She wasn’t real. And things like algebra and school dances were important.

 

None of that was real. This time last year, before she existed, nobody was dead. So how can that be a coincidence? How’s that fair?

 

There must be consequences for things like that, for recreating a lifetime’s worth of memories, for creating someone from thin air. Consequences like brain tumors, like aneurysms out of nowhere when everything was fine. Consequences like Buffy, broken and dead to save Dawn’s brand new life. Dawn’s life wasn’t worth Buffy’s. What was it worth?

 

It should have been her. But who’s she gonna tell that to?

 

Buffy told Dawn to live, and be strong. So that’s what Dawn’s going to do. But she can’t wrap her head around the _point._  It’s all funerals and bodies. Is that what growing up is? Nothing that seemed important before mattering anymore?

 

Everyone seemed so _worried_ about Dawn. With the _eyes,_  the ones that go right around her, through her, and the gentle voices. She wanted to scream, “I’m not the one who’s _dead!_ ” That’d probably just freak everybody out. And it’s not really their fault, so Dawn keeps quiet in an effort not to scream, because they’re all trying, and they don’t really deserve to be screamed at. So: _School was fine. I’m not hungry. I want to be alone right now._ No ‘get out,’ no yelling.

 

Except for at the Buffybot, on accident, the one time. When they finally leave her alone for, like, twenty minutes, because they at least don’t think she’ll go all breakdown mode for, like, an hour, or otherwise they don’t care that much because it’s not like any of them can exactly sit out on patrolling to play babysitter. Not without Buffy.

 

Dawn was just happy to have some time to herself. Except for the Buffybot, always waiting at the bottom of the stairs, or just around the corner, or flitting around the kitchen. Smiling. Asking stupid, programmed-in questions. And Dawn must have said something as she tried to avoid it, and the Buffybot responded, “I don’t understand that question, but thank you for asking. You’re Dawn. You’re my sister. I love you, Dawn.” Buffy’s voice, wrong tone. Too pitchy, too bright.

 

Following Dawn around, at her shoulders, stepping in doorways as Dawn tried to avoid it. It wanted to know if it had done something wrong, and why Dawn was avoiding her. “You’re my sister, Dawn. Are you mad at me, Dawn?”

 

Buffy’s voice saying Dawn’s name, over and over in her ears. Ringing. How can she be dead?

 

And, so: _Shut up. You’re a thing. You’re just a thing. Get out of my room. You aren’t my sister. You’re not my sister!_ In that shrill, glass-breaking scream that Dawn knows better than to use, tries not to use anymore, because she’s not a kid anymore, she’s fifteen, now, and she shouldn’t be throwing temper tantrums anymore, and she said she wouldn’t scream. But it’s not her sister. She just wants her sister. And she’s trying to be grown up, she’s trying to be like Buffy, but she just wants her sister.

 

And you’d think she’d know better than to still be thinking about resurrection, but she can’t stop reading over spells and instructions, whispering incantations to herself, but she never finishes the spell.

 

She did it with her mom. She has no way of knowing if it worked, but what if it did, before she pulled the plug on the whole thing? What if she could bring Buffy back? If she can’t bring her mom back, fine, but she at least needs Buffy. She just needs Buffy.

 

She spends any time alone she gets rehearsing what she’d need for it in her head. It’s not that hard, she’s done it before. But all she can hear is Buffy crying, begging her not to. _You know you can’t let this happen. Not to mom._

 

So how could she let it happen to Buffy?

 

But, still: whispers in the dark about blood and bone and flesh. Dawn just can’t help it.

 

Buffy died before, years ago. And she came back, then. So why can’t she just come back again? Why can’t Dawn wake up, with things like they were before? What’s so different, this time? The rules aren’t clean cut, they don’t make sense. And everyone’s talking to Dawn in these soft, soft tones, talking to her like a kid but expecting her to be grown up and understand that things won’t ever make sense. Sometimes people die and it’s all okay, and sometimes it’s not, and that’s the way it is.

 

Big deal. Get over it. Real life sucks.

 

Bodies, funerals, the smell of flowers. Empty bedrooms, that now occupy people that she loves but aren’t her family, things that aren’t people at all. That’s how it is.

 

But, really, the Buffybot isn’t so bad in the dark, when it’s charging and quiet, and Dawn closes her eyes. It feels like Buffy, almost, minus the heartbeat, minus the steady breathing and any calluses or scar tissue Buffy may have had.

 

But it’s better than nothing. And if, half asleep and in the dark, she can feel like her sister is beside her, that’s okay. It’s not enough, nothing could ever be enough. But it’s not so bad. It’s just one thing that’s a little more okay than Buffy being dead.

 

Eventually, Dawn gets used to the Buffybot, because what’s she gonna do? Walk around her house, angry? Scared she’ll turn the corner and see it? She can’t, not for the rest of _whatever_. And it’s not so bad to feel Buffy’s arms around her every once in a while, even if it’s not real.

 

Does it even matter if anything’s real? Can Dawn even be grieving, if she’s not real? If years of memories were fake for no reason other than someone had to die, and the only way to get anyone to die nowadays is to get feelings involved? That was for the world. Someone had to die to save the world, so of course, it’s Buffy.

 

(And Buffy was always such a hero. Such a martyr. But, then, Dawn shouldn’t be so bitter.)

 

So Dawn’s not real. How can you feel, if you’re not real? That’s the only thing that helps, in the dark, at night: _Not real, not real, not real._ Made-up, imaginary, brand new. Buffy wasn’t her sister. Not for very long, anyways. Dawn was just a precaution. So it shouldn’t hurt this bad.

 

The pain isn’t real, and neither is Buffy, not anymore.

 

Until she is. In the middle of chaos and fire and way too many demons, the Buffybot is dead. Why does that make Dawn so sad? But Buffy… Buffy, for real. And somehow, without even knowing she knew, Dawn could feel it. One day, Willow, and Xander and Tara and Anya, they’d walk through the door, and Buffy would be with them. Towards the end of summer, she could feel it. But she thought for sure she was just going crazy, trying to make herself feel better.

 

But then: demons, and fire, and Buffy, back again and wanting to know if it’s hell, ready to do a triple nosedive off the very same tower as before. That’s pretty much the first thing Dawn said to her sister, after she’d been dead for all that time. Just, _please don’t die again. I need you._  And Buffy’s eyes were blank until they really did almost die on that awful tower, which was enough to get Buffy down, and all the way home.

 

Dawn rambled like a little kid to fill up space, following an empty-eyed Buffy around the house, trying to hold up the weight of reality with words alone, bouncing around in the tangible silence, hurting the back of her throat. Someone had to be stable, someone had to be strong and steady. If Buffy couldn’t be that, then Dawn could.

 

So she brushed Buffy’s hair in the bathroom until it was straight and clean, talking about stupid things that neither of them cared about, like school and things at The Magic Box and how nothing good had been on TV since Buffy’d been gone, since most shows are off season during summer, anyways.

 

Dawn just wanted to keep Buffy grounded. She just wanted to make sure things were alright. So she’d be the grownup: she’d soft-talk to Buffy, kid gloves on and all, talking about nothing, talking about their mom, and then thinking she probably shouldn’t talk about mom. Buffy gives mostly one word responses throughout this.

 

But she can at least fend off Willow, Tara, Anya, and Xander, all talking at once. She can at least tell them to back off, get them to leave Buffy alone. Because Buffy is _processing._ Probably. She’s _probably_ fine. So Dawn will keep her safe, defend her, keep things quiet enough that Buffy’s voice can still be heard, if she’s got anything to say.

 

So Dawn doesn’t freak out, or cry, or anything like that, because Buffy is back, and someone’s got to protect her, too. So Dawn can act like everything is normal, and be there for her sister, and try and keep the ‘are you okay’s to a minimum, because things might not be normal, but it’s still Buffy. It’s still Dawn’s sister, and she loves her, so she’s keeping it together.

 

Dawn does an alright job of keeping it together for a long time, too. Externally, at least. She’s mostly stable and gives easy smiles and does her best to try and coax everything back to normal again. It’s not until several months later, when things are closer to ordinary than Dawn thought they’d be again that Dawn finally _processes._

 

Everything replaying in her head, Buffy alive and then dead and then alive again and further away than she was when she was actually dead. Uncombed hair and bloody knuckles and months of not saying she missed her sister, months of knowing it was all her fault, and it should have been her, and why didn’t she do anything?

 

And now Buffy’s back, but Dawn never let herself think so much about where she was back from, too focused on making things like before, being stable and strong and holding up Buffy until she could stand on her own again.

 

So, one night, long after Dawn decidedly _should_ be over all of it, she’s doing algebra homework way past when it should’ve been finished one minute, and then she’s just thinking about Buffy, and the tower, dead and alive and hurt. And how that’s her fault, maybe. Or a direct consequence of her existence.

 

And she winds up in Buffy’s doorway, blurting out, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

 

Buffy looks up from her book, sniffs the air for smoke, and narrows her eyes. “What did you _do?_ ” She crosses her arms, putting on a mock-authoritarian face before cracking a small grin. She’s in a good mood. Dawn should leave her alone, deal with it herself. Get a journal or something. She doesn’t return Buffy’s smile, and instead swipes under her eyes to ward off any stray tears.

 

“Oh. Dawn? Dawn, what’s wrong?” Buffy closes her book and moves to approach Dawn. “Hey. I’m not gonna disown you. Even if was something really bad. I promise.” Buffy tries to meet Dawn’s eyes, but Dawn’s looking down.

 

“You _died,_ ” Dawn says flatly, but her voice cracks a little, gives her away. Buffy blinks in confusion and puts a hand on Dawn’s arm.

 

“Uh-huh. I did,” Buffy nods.

 

“I shouldn’t have let you. I’m sorry. It was my fault. Or because of me, or whatever. And you _died_. You died,” Dawn says tearfully as Buffy grabs her hands.

 

“What? Dawn, no,” Buffy gives a quick shake of her head, frowning. “Of course it wasn’t your fault, or because of you, or anything. There was some-world saving that had to be done. That’s kind of in the job description for me. It’s got nothing to do with you,” Buffy says simply. Dawn meets her eyes, tearful.

 

“It’s got everything to do with me. It was about my blood, it was supposed to be me. You know it was supposed to be me. Everyone knew it was supposed to be me. Giles said it had to be me,” Dawn recounts.

 

“I don’t care,” Buffy shrugs, pushing a stray piece of hair out of Dawn’s face. “I don’t care. I did what I had to do because I wasn’t going to let it end any other way. I don’t care if it was supposed to be you, or because the monks made you out of me, I don’t care about blood. It’s what happened. It’s what _I_ did. And I’m not dead,” Buffy says. “Okay?”

 

Dawn gives a soft nod, fully crying now. Buffy gently brings her to the bed to sit down. “Buffy, you _died_ ,” she repeats.

 

“I know. But I’m here now, okay?”

 

“I know. _I know,_  I do. But… you were _dead._  And so was mom. I was alone,” Dawn admits, breath hitching.

 

Buffy wraps an arm around Dawn. “I’m back now. I’m not leaving. I swear. It’s not like anything can keep me dead for that long, anyways, right?” Buffy offers with a small smile. Dawn gives a fragmented laugh, wiping away at the tears that have tracked down her face, leaving her skin wet and raw.

 

“Dawn, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Seriously. You saved me until I remembered what the buzz was about the whole ‘being alive’ thing. And I’m so glad I did, ‘cause I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than here, with you. Okay?” Buffy asked gently.

 

Dawn nods, blinking away tears. “I just- you came back,” she chokes out, voice far away and buried under grief and joy and realization. “You came back. You’re alive again.”

 

“Dawnie, I hate to break it to you,” Buffy says, running a hand through Dawn's hair, “but you’re kind of late to the party, there.”

 

Dawn laughs, and sits there with her sister, drinking in the sensation of things being okay, for real.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a review if u liked it fuels me like ill take a book report on my fic tbh a critique if u well like did u like a certain part or quote FLATTER ME tbh... also if u wanna request a fic or just talk about btvs or dawn with me hmu at kryptomb.tumblr.com/ask love u all hope u enjoyed my nonsense sadness


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